


Heroes

by Halloweenhead131



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU Thedas, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Gore, Canon Typical Lore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dalish Elves, Death, Demons, Different Cultures and Customs, Dragon Age Lore, Dwarves, Elves, F/M, Grey Wardens, M/M, Mages (Dragon Age), Mages and Templars, Magical Realism, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Qunari, Series Character Mix, Slight AU Thedas Lore, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Spirits, Templars (Dragon Age), spirit possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-07 16:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halloweenhead131/pseuds/Halloweenhead131
Summary: The Blight had come and gone, and the heroes stood victorious. Ete Surana was one such hero that had seen too much of death and destruction and was not only plagued by the nightmares of taint but also of memory. However, with things boiling over between the Mages and Templars she is once again called into action to save Thedas.It just so happens that the man behind the salvation (or perhaps ruin some say) of Kirkwall answers the call too.She now believes the world truly does hate her.





	1. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

The room was circular and as he walked in several magelights lit up near him with a dim whitish blue glow. The door slid shut behind him with a muffled click and he glanced back in time to see a glyph glow and then fade back into the dark brown of the wood. Bookshelves lined the walls, heavy with tomes and scrolls as well as magical paraphernalia. Normally he would feel out of place and nervous in an area that looked and felt like this. It had so much magic woven into the foundations of the walls that the entire room thrummed with a constant energy. Now it was one of the places he could truly feel at home and get away from all the prying eyes within the castle. Ete Surana, his best friend and former companion during the Fifth Blight, one of the Hero’s of Ferelden and now his in-castle Arcane Advisor sat slightly hunched at her large desk with a sturdy quill and a tight-lipped glare down at the parchment before her.

“I take it you didn’t want to see me just to get me away from all the nobles in the Great Hall.” He sat down as he made the statement, eyes sweeping over her face to try and read into what was making her glare. A full lower lip was sucked into her mouth and he could see her jaw move, the muscle jumping as she now gnawed on her own flesh. She had a great white-knuckle grip on her newest quill as the parchment underneath became stained with drops of ink as she pondered words. Her other hand held out a thin piece of vellum without looking towards him and he took it before looking down at the tilted elegant scrawl that certainly wasn’t Ete’s own spidery script.

_Lady Ete Surana,_

_Champion of Redcliffe, Hero of Ferelden, First Enchanter of Denerim, Arcane Advisor to King Alistair Theirin, and My Dear Old Friend._

_I hope this letter reached you well enough and I hate to ask any more of you but Divine Justinia requests your and the other hero’s presence at the Conclave in Haven and at the Temple of Sacred Ashes._

_All the Divine wishes are to speak with you my dear friend, we fear that things have gotten so bad between the Mages and the Templars that drastic measures must be taken. A new fledgling Inquisition is to be born if the Conclave fails, and it is mute to think that it won’t. I know you feel Thedas has already asked too much of you, but we need someone with the skill to lead the Inquisition and we can’t very well ask the King of Ferelden to do so. Hello, Alistair, I hope you are well._

He snorted, of course, Leilana would know Ete would hand the letter to him. They were each other's shoulders to lean on as well as his Arcane Advisor, after all, everything she wrote or did had to at least pass his fingers or ears with his blessing. As stupidly cliché as it was, he trusted the woman on the other side of the desk with his life.

_I am glad to hear that you have mostly kept the new circle in Denerim intact, but the rest have broken and the Templars have failed their duty to protect the mages as well as the people and we fear that with the tension rising that the Conclave will not work to create peace. We need you Ete, we need the heroes, you are one of the only people who could possibly lead us to peace._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Friend, Leliana_

_Left Hand of the Divine_

“Why doesn’t the Divine lead the Inquisition, herself?” He placed the letter one the edge of her already cluttered desk. Adding to the mess of empty inkwells, ink stains, open tomes, snapped quills and unrolled scrolls amongst the catastrophe of crumpled parchment and a plate of untouched food. As well as her elbows, now perched on the wood after she sheathed the unused quill and crumpled up the parchment she had been glaring at as she leaned her head against her clasped hands.

“The Divine is the Chantry’s figurehead. The rebel mages wouldn’t look kindly on a military faction led by the Chantry. The Inquisition needs to be seen as a neutral force and who better to lead it than someone who’s a known hero?” Her head lifted slightly, resting her mouth against her hands as she peered at him with large doe-like emerald eyes from between the thick fan of black lashes and her nose scrunched slightly. “What I don’t get it why they think the heroes are the best for the position. I mean they do realise we were practically a bunch of children trying to stop the Blight?”

“Well, that bunch of children was three elves, six humans, two dwarves, Sten, a magical talking rock, and a dog. I think we did pretty good!” He threw his hands in the air and quickly let them drop with a muffled thump against the arms of the chair as he relaxed back into the cushions.

“I think you’re forgetting the army of humans, elves, and dwarves somewhere, Alistair.” She pointed out as she gave him a small smile. It was nothing like when they had first met when he had said something stupidly corny and she had laughed. He still wasn’t sure if it was at him specifically or at what he had said, at this point, it didn’t really matter. He just wanted to see her smile like that again.

“We did all the work though. High Dragons are hard to kill you know.” He raised an eyebrow and raised his hands into the same position as hers to hide a grin playing along his features. She raised a small eyebrow back at him and let her hands drop to clasp on the wood of the desk instead. The corners of her lips wobbled into a quirked smile this time, slowly raising and he wiggled his eyebrows at her, a snort passing through her nose.

“Okay, fine, that’s true.” There it was, a full smile as her shoulders straightened and rose, like a weight had lifted from her back and she could finally breath easier again. It was good to see her smile even with the weight of her titles wearing her down. He was glad that he could still make her smile, they were each other shoulders to lean on. With his betrothed trying to find the cure and the rest of them with her, Ete had stayed behind to make sure the kingdom ran smoothly with him. He was glad for the help even when something like the mage-templar war came up and everything went to hell again.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet, have you, Your Grace?” She glanced at the untouched tray of food sitting on her desk, probably cold by now.

“Makers breath, woman!” He leaned forward to bat at her hands as a bubble of laughter escaped her parted lips. She leaned out of the way of his playful smacks with a slight grin and quirk of her brow. “But no, not yet.”

“Well, that won’t do! Cheese for everyone!” She smiled, teeth bright white against the dark red, almost black lip stain she used before her face once again fell into that thoughtful frown that had become a more regular occurrence as of late. Her saw her left ear twitch through the silky curtain of black hair, wide emerald coloured eyes becoming heavy lidded as she placed the side of an index finger between her teeth. All nervous, thoughtful gestures he had seen too much of during the Blight, however, neither of them were contemplating on who exactly would be dying in the end. “Is it a good choice? I can’t very well leave you to run an entire kingdom on your own. And don’t say anything about a council, idiots the lot of them.”

He couldn’t explain the noise that came out of his mouth as she started a tirade about his council. He couldn’t and would never blame her for it, not while most of them still whispered untrue rumours behind her back and he was sure that most of it had to do with the fact that she was an elf _and_ a mage. He fingered the tiny phylactery hidden underneath his layers of clothing, the metal surrounding it protectively pressing against his palm and chest. He could feel the faint hum of it against the flesh of his palm, the rest of his skin long desensitized due to constant wear. She had entrusted it to him and he would die before he handed it over to someone who wasn’t himself, his betrothed, or Ete herself. He opened his eyes and saw a soft smile directed at him, a faint soft smile that touched every part of her face. Something that was as rare as a blue moon after the Blight and he practically melted at the familial warmth it gave him as he mirrored it with his own.

“Lets get some sustenance Your Grace, then we can speak of this in detail.”


	2. Getting Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever get a feeling when you know you have to do something but don't really want to do it? Yeah.

The letter containing not only the crest of Denerim but also the royal crest and her personal seal was attached to the messenger raven and set to fly, it would reach Leliana in a few days or a week depending. Her things were packed, and her battle robes refitted, updated and redyed when she had noticed she had not only grown plumper in the chest and hip area with the years and better nutrition, but the fittings were falling apart, and the colour had worn out. She was not naïve enough to think that this wouldn’t devolve into some sort of battle and wanted all her gear, whether that be her utility belts or the bottom of her boot, to be in top shape. She stuttered in her pacing and gripped her skirts between her fingers, knuckles turning white in the black fabric. She needed to remember that this wasn’t the Blight but somehow it felt all the same. People never seemed to learn from the past and due to it, they were doomed to repeat history.

“When will the sky _stop falling?_ ” She turned to the window beside her, eying the hustle and bustle of the courtyard, men and women were doing training exercises or patrols, servants went to there destinations. She crossed her arms and closed her eyes, ears twitching as she focused on scent and sound. There was herself, of course, a mixture of lyrium, elfroot, and dried parchment with ink mingling in, the scent of her citrus soap but then there was the room around her. Her private chambers smelled of a mixture of herself and dusty tomes, incense from the canisters, fresh linens, wood smoke from the fireplace and melted wax. The sounds were easier to pick out. The yells from outside, the giggles of servants through the corridors, the crackling of the fireplace, the pop of the candle wicks and the shuffle of cloth from the curtains and her skirts. A short tap to the thick wood of her door brought her from her reverie and she blinked a few times before flicking a hand to unseal the door and let it creak open.

“Apologies M’lady but the King wanted us to deliver this to your chambers.” The servant, a small elf around the age of fifteen held a long cloth wrapped object in her hands. Ete smiled, of course, she had almost forgotten the most important thing of all to have. Not that anyone could blame her with everything going on. She was glad at least Alistair remembered for her but if it was up to him she would have personal guards tailing her constantly.

“Ah yes, thank you, my dear.” She stepped forward, her hands taking the wrapped bundle with a firm grip, feeling the power of her staff. She had sent it to the enchanters and the blacksmith to repair when she had seen the cracks in the metal. She untied it and let the cloth drop to the floor. There was a half frightened, half awed gasp that answered the de-clothing of her stave, nobody but herself and Alistair had seen it in the castle. Things that had anything to do with mages of magic in any shape or form made people…antsy. Especially now. She twirled it around herself, the feel of a staff in her hands after so many years was exhilarating but also terrifying. She had retired it after the Battle of Denerim, left it in a display case in her room and practiced her control with only her hands. This made her feel like she was going to war again, and it caused her breath to stutter as she pressed the end on her staff to the floor, thinking that perhaps it was.

“M'lady? Are you well?” She forced her lips to upturn at the corners, a gentle smile that she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. She didn’t know if she could ever go back to the childish excitement she had when Duncan and Alistair had found her and Amell in Kinloch and released them from the sight of the same walls. She didn’t know if she could ever go back to the wide-eyed happiness when one of them told a joke, or when they had a victory after a battle with little to no wounds. She missed smiling but could never bring herself to actually do it.

“I’m fine, can you bring up my hairdresser, please? I have a feeling I’ll need to cut my hair.” There was a ‘ _Yes, m’lady_ ’ and a short curtesy before the girl practically fled the room in search of her hairdresser. Alistair wouldn’t like it, she didn’t like this feeling either, but she couldn’t have hair down to her hips while battling people. Too much of a distraction and too much work on the road, let alone most people would try to wrap their fingers around it to yank her places. Hair yanking was bad. She leaned her staff against the wall and pulled the stool from her vanity before stoking the fire, lighting more candles and sweeping her thick curtains to the sides. She never really had the use for servants and preferred that she did most things herself even when the hoity-toity nobles or her higher rankings complained that she didn’t need to. Where were her servants when the Taint swept the land? Oh, that’s right, she didn’t have any. So, she didn’t need any now and she wasn’t old and feeble, not that she would ever get to be.

“My Lady? You required my presence?” She turned to her hairdresser, she normally would have just used a sharp dagger on her hair like she had when they had gotten out of Kinloch. Immediately asking for a dagger from Duncan, taking her hair and cutting it. It had not been a straight cut, nor a perfect slice but it had been better than she had.

“Yes, I find myself in need of a new hairstyle. Short, chin length and bangs that rest just below my eyebrows.” She was shuffled to her vanity and sat on the chair in seconds with her back towards the mirror as her hairdresser unrolled her tools from a leather wrap. Soon enough she could feel strands of her thick, straight black hair fall to the stones of her room. With each strand that fell, there was a growing apprehension in her stomach as her mind tried to keep up with the change. She squashed it as she clasped her hands in front of her on her thighs, playing with the lyrium infused ring around her right middle finger. Her head felt lighter, slowly but surely and she could feel the hairdresser snipping close to her neck and she had to stifle a shiver. Thankfully, her hairdresser smelled of lavender perfume and not the wretched scent of rot, infection, and blood or else she was sure she would have incinerated the poor woman. Immediately after the Blight and the things that followed she had been extremely jumpy and frightened at every shadow that moved or every sound that echoed the halls. Alistair and the others had been quite the same, nobody felt safe even after and it had taken months for them to even feel somewhat safe. She had not only jumped at shadows and sounds but at people talking or looking at her a certain way. She had been extremely distrustful of anyone except for her companions during the Blight and had accidentally lit a poor messenger on fire due to it. She barely noticed her hairdresser move to face her and brush her hair to create the bangs.

“It is done, My Lady.” The woman, without any further requirements, cleaned her up and brushed her off as well as sweeping her hair into a pile before quietly leaving. She pressed her face into her hands and shuddered when she could feel the air brush against her neck and her now short black hair against the backs of her hands. She didn’t know whether she should feel scared or angry or whatever else emotion would match this predicament. She stood and waved a hand down her body, power thrumming from her fingertips as any last remnants of her newly cut hair fluttered to the floor, a flick of her wrist sent it to a pile and a snap of her fingers incinerated it. Only ashes and the smell of burnt hair remained, it wouldn’t smell like that for long. She padded to her staff, hidden in the shadows against the wall and pulled it against her body, enjoying the weight and familiar feel of the one thing she had always counted on, even before she was a Warden. She sighed, she had been doing that a lot lately, ever since the circles fell and she had been caught up in a whirlwind of pitiful rumours, death threats, and political mess.

She moved around the room, looking at anything she could still possibly need to be sent ahead to Haven. She shuddered at the thought of Haven or even having to go there again, the cult and the dragon being at the forefront of the thoughts. She wouldn’t mind seeing the temple again however because even amongst the terrifying actions of the cults blood mages and the fire-breathing dragon it had still been a sight to behold. And cold, she remembered it had been very cold. Another sigh as she went to her trunk and opened it, the sight of her thick black, fur-lined cloak greeting her, a gift from one of her companions. They had all exchanged gifts but instead of being bits and bobbles that would only acquire dust on shelves, it was things they could use for a long period of time – she got cloaks, magical tomes, enchanted jewellery and clothing, throwing knives with lessons along with lightweight armour pieces that could be used amongst her robes. Every one of them, including Morrigan, weirdly enough had given her something and she had given them something as well. It just goes to show that family may not be the people who have the same blood in their veins but the ones that you find and befriend on your journeys. Closing the trunk with cloak and staff in hand she moved out the door before turning around.

This had been her home for a long time, more of a home than she had in the circle, and she didn’t know when she would be coming back to its comfort. She would miss it, but duty calls and she wasn’t about to ignore such matters for her own comfort, nor would she light herself on fire to keep others warm. This would be, hopefully, a short and professional endeavour. Go there, meet the Divine, potentially lead people to peace (again) and come home. She could feel the pressure between her brows increase and the downturn of her lips as she shifted the cloak onto the arm that held her staff before pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. It fell back, not as long as it used to be, and that apprehensive feeling revived itself in her chest. She had a bad feeling about this, somehow or some reason nothing around this felt right.

“Mi’Lady,” A messenger stopped beside her somewhat out of breath but not badly. She shut her door and turned to him. “The armorsmith and enchanter say your battle robes are ready, the kennel master wished to see you, Lady Antabella wants to wish you a safe journey unable to delay her return to the Free Marshes, and a Warden is waiting for you in the Great Hall.”

“A warden?” They had been walking down the corridor when she abruptly stopped, causing him to take a few more steps than she did before turning to her. “What is a warden doing here?’

“I don’t know Mi’Lady, he did not say.” And she was too far away from the Great Hall to check if it really was a Grey Warden or just an imposter. She huffed and started walking again, the end of her staff tapping in intervals, her casual robes fluttering around her as they took up a brisk walk.

“Tell Lady Antabella ‘ _thank you, and you as well_ ’ if you can catch her, I will go to the armorsmith and enchanter as well as the kennel master.” She took a breath and wondered if she was out of shape or the messengers just did lung exercises for a moment. “If you can tell the Warden to wait for a bit, I will be with him as soon as I can. Also get him food and drink if he wants it, I’m sure he had a long journey here.” Another ‘ _Yes, right away, Mi’Lady_ ’ before he scurried off to do as told. The castle was a bustling hive of activity, people did their work, or trained, or loitered around waiting for someone of rank to take up their time and talk an ear off. She passed them all and sighed again, she needed a break but doubted she would ever get one.


End file.
